Finding Home Again
by jemu
Summary: Sometimes things just happen beyond your control as Xander comes to learn. Slash, HP crossover, and a WIP.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Finding Home Again

**Author**: Chosa

**Beta**: Drakbee

**Rating**: K+ for now and just to be on the safe side.

**Feedback**: Please!

**Disclaimer**: Not mine, never been mine. Just borrowing chacters here and there.

**Warnings**: HP crossover; Slashing of the male characters; Writing in Progress

**Summary**: Sometimes things happen beyond your control.

--

**Prologue**

Xander shut off his engine and rubbed a calloused palm over his face. His one visible eye drooped in exhaustion while the other throbbed in time to his heart. He exhaled hard and pulled the key out of the ignition. He tossed the hard hat into the passenger's seat and slid out of the truck.

As he walked into his apartment, he checked the time and sighed wearily. Five thirty-seven pm. He figured he would pop something into the microwave and vegetate in front of the TV, maybe watch 'The Simpsons' before crashing. Xander pushed the door open and used his foot to nudge it shut behind him. He toed off his shoes and shuffled into the kitchen. As Xander walked by his phone, he absently pressed the button for his messages before continuing on and reaching for the fridge.

"_You have three new messages. Message one received two eleven pm today- Hey Xander! This is Andrew. Uh, just calling to let you know that, I'll, uh, be in L.A., and if you don't mind, maybe I can, you know, stop by and say hi? Well, call me back!_" Xander blinked owlishly at the carton of milk. He shook it, noting how thick it sounded.

"_Message two, received eleven fifteen am today- Xander, this is Giles. Give me a call back when you get this message._" He poured the expired milk into the sink and tossed the empty carton into the trash.

"_Message three received nine o-seven am today- Hi Xander! Guess what? You'll be sooo angry with me, but do you remember Kennedy? Well... we kinda, uh, hadacommitmentceremony! Sorry, I tried to invite you but it was a spur of the moment thing- and speaking of which, congratulations, I heard that you got a promotion! Dawn says hi, and that you need to call her more. Don't forget mister! I'm coming to visit next week! Okay, bye, Xander!_" Xander grinned while pressing delete and erasing all the messages. He'd call Giles and Willow after some dinner. He dug through the fridge and ended up nuking yesterday's dinner.

Settling down in front of the TV, he flipped past the news channels and ended up settling on a rerun of 'Malcolm in the Middle'. Sometime later, Xander jerked awake when someone started knocking incessantly on his door. He had not even realized how tired he was until he saw that he had slept a whole two hours and accidently dumped his now cold dinner on the sofa cushions. Xander swore and quickly cleaned up the area.

"Hold on!" He called to whoever was pounding on his door. He hurried to the kitchen and dropped the plate in the sink before quickly rinsing his hands. He wiped them carelessly on his dusty jeans. Whoever was knocking on his door was obviously getting impatient as the knocking became more of a pounding. "Coming! I'm coming!" He turned the lock and swung the door open. "Yeah?"

It was some tall chick with dirty blond hair and piercing blue eyes. She had one arm curled around a thick stack of papers and the other clasped in the small hands of a toddler. Xander smiled hesitantly. "Can I help you?"

She grinned a slow creeping smile that immediately triggered Xander's hell-mouthy sensors. He stared at her warily. "Mr. Alexander Laville Harris?" Xander nodded slowly. "Excellent." She murmured, her grin turning sly and even creepier.

"And who are you?" He asked.

"I'm Nancy Lewis, a solicitor from London. May I come in?"

Solicitor? What the hell was that, Xander wondered. He stared at her. Noted that it _was_ daylight outside and did not move aside. "Is there something wrong?" He demanded eyeing her and the toddler, who, even now, oddly had not spoken or done anything.

"Actually, that is what I am here to talk to you about, Mr. Harris." She replied coolly. She eyed him for a few silent moments. "I'm a lawyer, Mr. Harris. From London."

Oh. Well, huh. Maybe Giles sent her, and that was why he wanted Xander to call? Xander nodded, "Okay. Well, uh, I'm not in trouble or anything am I?"

"Nothing of the sort, Mr. Harris. Now please? I do have other appointments to keep." She said sharply.

"Oh, yeah, yeah," Xander swung the door open wider and stepped back. She stepped through tugging the child along with her. He wiped sweaty hands on his back pockets and gestured to the sofa. "So, um, have a seat." She pulled the silent child closer, put the stack of papers down on the coffee table, then bent and placed him carefully on the sofa. He perched there sitting limply like a life sized doll. Xander thought it was rather creepy staring at the tussled black head bent so low the tiny chin was touching its skinny chest. "Did you want anything to drink?"

She shook her head smoothing a perfectly manicured hand down the front of her suit, "No, but thank you, Mr. Harris. Please, let's begin." He nodded jerkily. She patted her pockets before reaching into the side and pulling out a long thin stick. She held it up, "Do you know what this is Mr. Harris?"

Is this a trick question? Xander thought staring blankily at the stick, "Uh... a stick?" She smiled.

"No, but that's good." She tilted it so that the tip was pointing at him, "_Obliviate_."


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: Finding Home Again

**Author**: Chosa

**Pairings**: Eventual Spike/Xander but slow going.

**Rating**: K+ for now and just to be on the safe side.

**Feedback**: Please!

**Disclaimer**: Not mine, never been mine. Just borrowing chacters here and there.

**Warnings**: HP crossover; Slashing of the male characters; Writing in Progress

**Summary**: Sometimes things happen beyond your control.

**Notes**: Finally felt inspired enough to pound out the next chapter.

**Spoilers**: (BtVS) Post series. (HP) Pre-series... AU; veers off from original storyline.

**Beta(s)**: N/A for now. Fix it later.

--

**Chapter One:  
**

It has always been like this.

Evans, his bright little boy, would come home from school and hesitate at the door before coming over to give him a shy hug. Every afternoon, Alex would relish that strange tingle of awe that skittered up his arms into his heart, when those skinny arms would wrap loosely around his neck. His arms would wind themselves carefully around the rather small delicate body and Alex would breath in the soft scent of baby shampoo that still clung to those raven locks. Green eyes would peek at him curiously from beneath shaggy bangs because no matter how many times Alex attempted to cut them straight, they would look exactly the same the very next morning.

He pretends to not notice that if and when Evans speaks there is a tinge of an English accent to it just like.... someone? Someone he thinks he once knew but can only see books upon dusty books and eventually shakes his head to clear the images. He cannot remember ever meeting a girl with green eyes but neither can he remember exactly when Evans entered his life. Alex assumes that Evans has always been with him but cannot shake the feeling that the assumption is wrong. They both ignore the fact that there are no pictures of them together; nowhere in his tiny little apartment. Alex does not comment, and Evans does not ask.

Alex thinks that when he first moved here, he could have sworn it was a one bedroom apartment. Obviously he is wrong because a little bit down from the bathroom there is a room, half the size of his, decorated and filled with Evans stuff.

It is an odd little room that does not really match the rest of the apartment. A twin bed sits in the very center, the head shoved up and below a single window. The comforter stretched neatly on top has an odd pattern of little gold balls with wings. There is a single poster of an owl taped carefully to the forest green wall and nothing else. Strewn around the floor is random bits of socks, papers, and some toys.

Alex feels pretty confident that that room does not truly belong there. But again, that feeling is quickly banished into a locked part of himself.

In the mornings they eat together. Evans likes his eggs scrambled with a pinch of sugar, some milk, and a little bit of salt. Alex knows this but Evans acts surprised every morning he has had it. Alex gets a little tinge of pleasure from the pleased expression on his son's face.

When he feeds Evans, clouds of confusion puffs half-heartedly through his mind. He cannot understand nor explain why Evans always curls slightly but protectively over his plate. But as soon as the confusion comes, it disappears buried deeply in a place he can never quite reach. He drinks orange juice like he has never had it before and blinks in confusion at the pop tart on the side of his plate. Alex does not draw attention to this continuing to inhale his own pop tart. There is a Twinkie in his cabinet calling his name but he must set a good example for Evans. No junk food for breakfast.

When Evans leaves for his bus stop after breakfast, Alex makes sure to slowly hug him and tell him he loves him. Evans always blinks before giving him a slow sweet smile and stutters the words back. He pats his son's head and shoos him out the door.

When the door shuts behind Evans, Alex is suddenly feeling very lost. He drifts over to the window and peers outside. Down a ways, he can just barely make out streetlights. They switch rapidly- green, yellow, red. The red light makes him blink. A finger taps absently on the glass as the image of red willows swaying gently to the Star Wars theme fills his head. It does not make any sense and he cannot form a connection. He thinks it has something to do with dusty books but cannot tell. A dull throbbing pain in the back of his eye makes him shake the images out of mind.

Alex leaves the window, the red light fading from his mind, wispy images of willows swaying in the wind stubbornly clinging but those too, fade. In the bathroom, he prepares for the day. He brushes his teeth quickly before rinsing and spitting. When he looks up into the mirror though, he does not know the face staring back at him.

Plain brown eyes, average nose, slightly full lips a little turned down at the corners and drooping eyes. It is not until a sudden twitch from his head has a lock of hair falling down to cover an eye that it feels a little better. One side of his vision is blocked and for some reason that feels right. He lifts a hand to smear the mirror so that his image is obscured. He does not want to see himself.

His closet holds clothes that he cannot imagine on himself, but they must be his, they were after all, his size. So he prepares himself to go to work. Carefully folded black dress pants are pulled impatiently on. Most of the button up shirts hanging in his closest are dull blues or bright whites but he manages to dig out a loud blue and purple striped shirt. Over that is a colorful brown and yellow knit vest. Mix-matched socks go on each feet before he forgoes the dress shoes in favor of sneakers. Alex is satisfied when he looks in the mirror. The colors clash horribly but he has never felt better.

The library is two blocks down from his apartment so he walks. When he gets there, the receptionist eyes him oddly but gestures an absent wave that Alex takes as hello. All he does today is put away books and he feels so comfortable in this duty that he blanks out working on automatic. It is a boring job.

Throughout the day, Alex feels his hands twitch at odd moments, like they were meant to do something else. He sees and feels the callouses on his hands. He knows a librarian should not have those kinds of callouses.

Throughout the morning until he leaves, he never sees anyone come in but there are always so many books to shelve.

Alex makes sure to leave at four sharp. It takes him ten minutes to walk home to his apartment. It takes him five to chill himself down and be in the kitchen when his son gets home.

Like clockwork, the lock clacks loudly before the knob turns and the door swings open. His son is home. Evans hesitates at the door first. It is not until Alex crouches to his level that Evans will approach like a wary animal a shy smile growing. Little twig thin arms slide around his neck and Alex will breath a sigh of relief.

Together they will prepare dinner. While preparing dinner, Alex will chatter and joke about his day. Evans listens attentively helping out where he can. He never says much but always offers the ghost of a smile at every joke. Alex does not know how to cook beyond making scrambled eggs. For dinner, he digs in his freezer and gets lucky. He finds a ready to oven meatloaf prepackage. So he lets Evans tear open the box while he preheats the oven. He even lets his son poke holes in the film on top before popping it in the oven. It is only slightly burnt after fourty-five minutes and he is considerate enough to cut and give Evans only the good parts. When Evans is away at the sofa staring in fascination at the 'telly' Alex sneaks a Twinkie to get rid of the slightly burnt taste on his tongue.

He makes Evans do his homework at six every night. The instant the sun begins to set though, Alex will begin to fidget and walk the perimeter of his apartment. He checks that the windows are shut tight and locked. He would close the curtains, or draw the blinds tight. The door has three other locks besides the main one with a medium sized silver cross hanging on it. Alex does not think he is a very religious person but can never get himself to remove it. Each lock is carefully put in place on the door. Evans ignores all of this in favor of watching Sponge bob.

Evans is put to bed around eight and Alex always tells him a bed time story. Every time it is about a superhero who saves people by slaying evil creatures. Whether male or female, the superhero's name is always Buffy.

When he himself lays down to sleep, he will dream about vampires. The good, the bad, and the downright fugly. Willows with red leaves sways in the wind. It rains dusty old tomes around him. Two sprites dance around him, barely visible with wheat blond hair curling around their pale faces. He looks around him. There is always a yellow bus, the wrenching feeling of loss and a large empty hole in front. There is a blond one though, with a different English accent that Alex always sees going up in flames in darkness. In the background, trembling softly at first but growing in strength, something giggles and two bright green eyes flare into life in the darkness boring into him. A beautiful woman will reach out from the darkness, inky black hair like oil moving in the darkness. At first her arms wind gently around him but then when she kisses him, her grip turns vicious, her mouth opens and she tries to suck out his soul. When he jerks awake, his heart is pounding and he is sweating tangled in his sheets.

Alex would immediately pretend to be sleeping when his door opens and a small body slips inside. He snores every so often ignoring the slight dip of the bed and the slight warmth of a body curling against his. But his hand does tighten slightly around the small hand wiggling into his. And he wont say, but Alex is actually quite glad for the company and when he sleeps again, it is better and dreamless.

The next day when he looks in the bathroom mirror, he still does not recognize the face in the mirror. He thinks maybe he is missing something but cannot fathom what it is and shrugs off the concern.

He tells himself that it has always been like this. But in his heart, he thinks maybe it has not.


End file.
